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“ HE HAD JUST TIME TO DART BEHIND A PILE OF BAGGAGE.” 

(See fage 13.) 


A District Messenger Boy 


AND 


A NECKTIE PARTY 


BY 


JAMES OTIS 


AUTHOR OF 

“ TOBY TYLER,” “ TEDDY AND CARROTS,” 
“ JENNY wren’s BOARpiNG-HOUSE,” 

“ THE BOY CAPTAIN,” “ LITTLE 
JOE,” ETC., ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY 


2nd 

1898 . 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED 




(i70S 


Copyright^ i8g8^ 

BY 

Lothrop Publishing Company. 




Colonial ^^rtss: 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, U. S. A. 


CONTENTS. 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Unwilling Passengers 7 

II . Home Again 25 

DAN HARDY’S CRIPPY 45 

A NECKTIE PARTY. 

1 . Si’s Scheme 75 

II. Aggie’s Scheme 89 

III. Tom’s Scheme 102 







A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY 



A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


CHAPTER I. 

UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 

“ What is your name, boy ? ” 

“Joe Curtis, sir.” 

“ And your number ? ” 

“ Two hundred and ninety-seven.” 

“ Very well, now listen to what I say, and see 
that you do exactly as I tell you. I am going to 
Providence by the Sound steamer that sails in 
an hour and a half ; take these tickets, go to the 
office of the boat, get the key of the stateroom 
I have engaged and paid for, and put these 
satchels in it.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then wait near the gangway of the steamer 
until I come, for I shall probably be late, as I 


7 


8 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY, 


have to take a sick friend with me. Be sure 
to have the room ready, so that I can have him 
carried directly from the carriage to his berth.” 

“ I will wait for you, sir.” 

“ What are the rates ? ” 

“ For an hour and a half, ninety cents, sir, 
and car fare extra if you want me to get there 
in a hurry.” 

“Very well, here is a dollar, and see that you 
do exactly as I have told you.” 

Joe touched his cap, took the two valises that 
the gentleman pointed out to him in one corner 
of the office, and, staggering under the heavy 
weight, started for the nearest elevated railroad 
station. Joe was scarcely large enough to carry 
the valises ; but, when he succeeded in getting 
a situation in the messenger service, he knew 
that he would have plenty of hard work to do, 
and was fully prepared for it. Besides, this 
acting the part of porter was by no means so 
difficult a job as some that had been assigned 
to him in the past six weeks, and he went about 
it as philosophically as if he had been a man, 
instead of a boy only twelve years old. 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


9 


Arrived at the dock, he had no trouble in 
getting the stateroom key, since he had the 
proper tickets, and, after caring for the bag- 
gage, it was only necessary to wait near the 
gang-plank until his employer should appear. 

It was by no means hard work for Joe to wait 
for the gentleman ; in the bustle and confusion 
everywhere around him he found plenty to oc- 
cupy his mind, and, forgetting how hard he had 
struggled to get the baggage down there, he 
thought he had been particularly fortunate in 
being assigned to the work. 

The moments went by so fast that, when the 
last bell sounded, and Joe heard the cry of “All 
ashore that’s going,” he could hardly believe it 
possible that he had been on the boat more than 
an hour, waiting for the gentleman and his sick 
friend. 

“ He’s got to come pretty soon, or else his 
stateroom won’t do him much good,” Joe said 
to himself as he stood close by the gang-plank 
with the key in his hand, ready to deliver it 
without delay. 

But although carriage after carriage was driven 


lo 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


up just in time for its occupants to get on the 
boat, Joe’s employer did not come, and the boy 
began to understand that, unless he made some 
decided move at once, he would be carried away. 

“ He told me to look out for the baggage until 
he came ; but I don’t s’pose he meant for me to 
go to Providence if he didn’t come.” 

The sailors were pulling the gang - plank 
ashore, and Joe saw that his time was indeed 
limited. Since he had been ordered to care 
for the baggage until the gentleman came, he 
had no idea of leaving it on the steamer, neither 
did he propose to make a trip to Providence. 

“ ril get the things out of the room, an’ then 
wait on the pier,” he said to himself as he ran 
up to the saloon where the stateroom was lo- 
cated. 

There were a large number of passengers on 
the boat, and, despite all Joe’s efforts, he could 
not get through the crowd quickly. He strug- 
gled and pushed, even at the risk of incurring 
the displeasure of those gentlemen who were in 
his way, until he reached the stateroom. To 
get the valises out after he was once there was 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


II 


but the work of a few moments, and then he 
had another difficult task to reach the main 
deck. 

When he did get there, breathless and excited, 
he saw that his efforts had been in vain, for the 
steamer had already left the dock, and was so far 
out in the stream that, unless he had been Mr. 
Giant-Stride of fairy-tale fame, he could not have 
leaped ashore. 

“Well, this is nice!” exclaimed Joe, as he 
stood with a valise in each hand, looking at the 
dock, on which he fancied he could see the man 
who had been the cause of his involuntary voy- 
age. “ Now, what’ll I do.? ” 

He stood looking about him in doubt and per- 
plexity, uncertain whether to go to the captain of 
the boat, and demand that he be landed at once, 
or to explain the situation to some of the passen- 
gers, in the vain hope that they might be able to 
aid him, when he heard the sound of sobs close 
beside him. 

“ Hello I did you get carried away, too ? ” he 
asked, as he saw a boy, not more than eight or 
nine years old, crying bitterly. “ Come here, 


2 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


sonny, an’ tell me what the matter is, for it 
looks as if you an’ I were in the same scrape.” 

“ They’re takin’ me away from mamma an’ 
papa, an’ I’ll just jump overboard,” was sonny’s 
answer. 

“ Oh, don’t get like that,” said Joe, soothingly, 
as he placed the valises carefully in one corner, 
and took the child by the hand to reassure 
him. “ They ar’n’t to blame, ’cause they told 
everybody to go on shore that wanted to, an’ 
we didn’t go.” 

^ “ I couldn’t,” sobbed the boy, “ he held me, an’ 
when I cried he struck me in the face.” 

“Who did.?” 

“ The man that made me come here with him. 
Mamma let me go out in the street to play if I 
wouldn’t go away from the block ; but that man 
came up an’ asked me if I did not want a real 
live pony, an’ I did, an’ I went with him to get 
it.” 

“ An’ you forgot what you promised your 
mother,” said Joe, sagely. 

“Yes, ’cause he said it was only a little ways 
off ; but when we’d walked two blocks, I wanted 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


to go home, and he told me he’d cut my throat 
wide open if I said anything ; and then we 
come here.” 

“ Why, he’s up an’ stole you, that’s what he’s 
done,” said Joe, as, with his hands deep in his 
pockets, he stood contemplating the boy, whose 
trouble was so much greater than his. 

“Oh, dear!” wailed the child, as he hid his 
head in the corner, and gave way to his grief. 
“ I’m goin’ right straight home, an’ I wo7it stay 
here.” 

Joe was touched by the boy’s distress; he for- 
got his own troubles, which were light as com- 
pared to the little fellow’s, and did his best to 
comfort him. 

“ Now, see here, — what’s your name, though V'‘ 

“ Ned.” 

“Well, Ned, you couldn’t get home now, so 
you’d better stop crying, an’ we’ll see if we can’t 
fix it in some way. Where’s the man } ” 

“ He went down-stairs when the boat started, 
an’ he told me he’d beat me black an’ blue if I 
spoke to anybody while he was gone.” 

“An’ prob’ly he would,” said Joe. “If he 


14 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


dared to reg’larly steal you he’d dare to do 
anything else ; but I’ll get away before he comes 
up, an’ I’ll go an’ tell the captain of the boat. 
Then I rather think the man will wish he’d 
never’d said anything about a pony, for he’ll be 
arrested.” 

“No, no, don’t !” cried Ned, “he’d be sure to 
kill me if you should do that, an’ then what good 
would it do me } ” 

“ But you hain’t goin’ to let him carry you of¥, 
be you } ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Ned, and he began 
to cry piteously again, while Joe tried to soothe 
him by wiping away the big tears with the cuff 
of his jacket. 

“ I think you’d better let me tell the captain,” 
he said. 

“ I can’t, ’cause he knows another man on the 
boat, an’ one of them would be sure to kill me. 
Why won’t you let me just go with you ” 

“ I would if I knew where I was goin’ ; but 
you see. I’m most as bad off as you are ; ” and 
then Joe told him of his misfortune in having 
become an involuntary passenger, concluding 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 1 5 

his story by saying, “ An’ I’ve got a mother 
that’ll feel just as bad as yours will; it will be 
worse for her, too, ’cause she says now that 
father’s dead I’m all that she’s got, an’ every 
cent I make I carry home to her, ’cause she has 
to work hard to get money to pay the rent.” 

Joe could understand very readily, by Ned’s 
clothing, that their homes were widely different. 
Had it not been for his uniform, the messenger 
boy would have worn a very shabby suit of 
clothes, while Ned was not only dressed expen- 
sively, but he wore what was, to Joe, the very 
height of extravagance — a gold ring. 

“ Even if you don’t know where you’re goin’, 
take me with you,” said Ned. “ If you’d help 
me. I’d try to get away from that man, — there 
he comes now; don’t let him whip me.” 

“ I’ll go off, so’s he won’t know we’ve been 
talkin’, an’ just as soon as he leaves again I’ll 
come back,” said he. 

He had just time enough to dart behind a pile 
of baggage, before the man came up, and he 
needed but one glance to convince him that 
Ned had good cause for fear. The man’s face 


1 6 A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

was SO brutal looking, that even he began to 
think perhaps it might not be advisable to ap- 
peal to the captain of the steamer, lest the story 
should not be believed, and he be called to an 
account for interfering. 

The valises were still where he had left them, 
and, marching boldly out, but feeling quite the 
reverse of what he tried to assume, he took the 
baggage, not heeding the pleading look Ned 
gave him, and went to the stateroom, where he 
remained some time, trying to make up his mind 
what he could do to aid the boy who had ap- 
pealed to him. He did not for a moment 
entertain the idea of leaving him with that 
man. Suddenly, what seemed to be a very 
brilliant idea came to him, and he walked 
down-stairs on to the main deck again, leav- 
ing the door of the stateroom unlocked. 

The man was seated by Ned’s side, smoking, 
and Joe went from one place to another, keeping 
the couple in sight all the while, until he saw 
him walk away with a companion who spoke 
to him, and looked quite as detestable as he. 

Joe made sure that the two had gone into the 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


17 


lower cabin, and, running quickly to where Ned 
sat, he said, “ Come 'up-stairs with me as fast as 
you can, an’ I’ll show you what to do.” Then, 
taking the little fellow by the hand, he hurried to 
the upper deck, not looking around, and hardly 
daring to breathe until they were in the state- 
room, with the door securely fastened and the 
blind of the window closed. 

“ There ! ” he exclaimed, triumphantly, in a 
whisper, “ I guess this fixes Mr. Man, an’ when 
he tries to find you he’ll think that stealin’ boys 
hain’t so easy as he thought it was.” 

“ But he’ll come up here to get me,” said Ned, 
hoping that there was an opportunity for him to 
escape, yet frightened at the step he had taken. 

“ He may come up-stairs ; but how can he find 
you ? See here, Ned, I’ve got two tickets for the 
passage in rny pocket, an’ the room’s been paid 
for by the man I told you about. Now we can 
keep in here till the boat stops, and then I guess 
we can give him the slip’; but I hain’t thought 
yet how we either of us can get home.” 

“ But s’posen he comes right up here to the 
door.?” 


1 8 A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

“ He won’t do that. Can’t you see, Ned, that 
he don’t know anything more about this room 
than he does of any other We’re all right for 
awhile anyhow ; but I guess we’ll be pretty 
hungry, ’cause we can’t get anything to eat.” 

“ f don’t care ’bout that, if he don’t get hold of 
me again,” said Ned, growing bright and happy 
as he realized his temporary safety. 

The boys examined the tickets Joe had, looked 
curiously at the snug little cabin, wondered what 
the man would say or do when he could not find 
Ned, and, finally, the first novelty of the situation 
having passed away, they talked of their homes. 

It was the most unwise thing they could have 
done, so far as peace of mind was concerned, for 
at the thoughts of their mothers waiting and 
watching for them, both broke down. Ned lay 
down in the berth without a thought of hiding 
his grief ; but Joe, who considered it his duty, in 
his position of protector to the younger boy, to 
appear unconcerned, was obliged to stand by the 
window in order to cry without being seen or 
heard, and he wiped his eyes with the curtain 
until his cheeks were stained blue and green 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


19 


from the dye of the fabric, in a sorrowfully 
ridiculous fashion. 

However it happened, neither of the boys quite 
understood, but, despite their deep sorrow, they 
both fell asleep, shortly after Joe lay down by the 
side of Ned to comfort him, and did not awaken 
until morning. The sun was streaming in 
through the slats of the blinds, the throbbing of 
the engine was stilled, and everything betokened 
the end of the voyage. 

Neither of the boys had undressed, for they had 
anticipated a long, dreary evening during which 
they would be very hungry, and Joe had fully in- 
tended to walk around the boat for the purpose 
of learning what Ned’s enemy was doing. They 
had not laid any plans, and in this Joe felt that 
they had been culpable, since, now that they were 
at liberty to go on shore, neither had an idea of 
what course to pursue. 

“ While you are washing your face I will go 
out and see if that man is around anywhere,” said 
Joe, finally, “an’ I’ll lock the door and take the 
key with me so’s there won’t be any chance of 
his gettin’ in while I’m gone.” 


20 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


Ned did not much like being left alone, but he 
made no objections, since he could readily see 
that it was of the highest importance that they 
should learn if the man and his companion were 
watching for them. 

Joe went into every portion of the boat in 
which passengers are allowed; but without see- 
ing either Ned’s captor or his companion. Had 
he been on deck when the steamer arrived at 
Newport, he would have seen the two men land 
there, after searching vainly for the boy they 
had stolen, much as if they feared they might be 
called to an account for what they had done. Of 
this, of course, Joe knew nothing; and when he 
failed to see either of the men, he naturally feared 
they were waiting on shore in the hope of catch- 
ing Ned as he landed. 

It was but seven o’clock, and as a number of 
the passengers were yet on board, the stewards 
had paid no attention to the stateroom the boys 
occupied ; otherwise an explanation might have 
been made which would have prevented both the 
young passengers much trouble. 

“ It’s morning, Ned, an’ I s’pose we’re in Provi- 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


21 


dence,” said Joe, as he eame back to the state- 
room where the child was waiting, in fear and 
trembling, the result of his trip on deck. “ I 
can’t see anything of the men, an’ perhaps if we 
go on shore now they won’t catch us. We’ve 
got to take these valises, for the man told me to 
watch ’em, an’ that means that I’ve got to keep 
right side of ’em.” 

Ned manfully took hold of one side of the 
heaviest piece of baggage, and with anxious 
hearts the two left the room. 

At the gangway the children were stopped by 
the man whose duty it was to collect the tickets. 
He looked at the small boys with the large valises, 
curiously; but as Joe gave him the two pieces of 
pasteboard that entitled them to first cabin pas- 
sages, the officer could do no less than allow them 
to land. 

Even though they were supposed to be in 
Providence, they were some distance from the 
city, as they learned when they were off the pier, 
and Joe said : 

“ Now, Ned, I’m sorry to make you do it, but 
we’ve got to walk fast if we don’t want those men 


22 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


to catch US,” and that was sufficient to induce 
the boy to do his best. 

But no matter how frightened a boy may be, 
he cannot walk very far on a hot morning, with- 
out breakfast, more especially if he has had no 
supper the night previous ; and some time before 
they were near the city, both Ned and Joe were 
obliged to rest. 

As a matter of course, they had seen nothing 
of the men, and with the feeling of freedom came 
the question which should have been settled the 
night before, — that of where they should go. 

“ I declare, I don’t know what we will do,” said 
Joe, in answer to Ned, and then he chewed a 
piece of straw, vigorously, as if by that means he 
hoped to be aided in arriving at some satisfac- 
tory conclusion. “You see, the trouble is that 
we’ve got all this baggage to lug ’round, when 
it’s about as much as we can do to get along 
ourselves.” 

“ Why don’t you leave the things somewhere ? 
You never can find the man that owns ’em, even 
if you carry them all the way back to New 
York,” said little Ned, sensibly. 


UNWILLING PASSENGERS. 


23 


“ That’s so, bub,” said Joe, “ but all the same, 
you see he told me to take care of them, an’ I’ve 
got to do it, or else they’ll blame me at the 
office.” 

Just then an express wagon passed, which 
suggested to Joe a very simple way of disposing 
of his burden. 

“ I’ll tell you what we can do,” he said, as he 
started to his feet quickly, while his face lighted 
up with pleasure at the idea. “ We’ll walk along 
until we come to an express office, an’ then we’ll 
just send the valises on to where I work. I 
know we can do that, for last week somebody 
sent two trunks there, an’ the manager had to 
pay the bill for bringing them.” 

Unfortunately, it never occurred to Joe that it 
also would be possible to get money sufficient to 
pay for the passage home by telegraphing to the 
manager of the office.' 

“ We’ve got a dollar,” he said, as they trudged 
along, the valises seemingly growing heavier each 
moment, “ and jest as soon as we get rid of these 
we’ll get something to eat.” 

At the express office the clerk took the bag- 


24 A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

gage and gave Joe a receipt for it without un- 
necessary conversation. If he had not been so 
busy he might have asked some questions, and 
thus the boys would have been advised as to the 
proper course to pursue; but as it was, they 
walked out, little thinking how much they might 
have learned, and rejoicing that they were freed 
from a heavy burden. 

After they had made a very satisfactory break- 
fast on a pie, which Joe bought for the small sum 
of ten cents, in consideration of the fact that it 
was not as fresh as a first-class pie should be, 
they walked in the direction of the wharves as a 
first step towards learning how they should get 
home. 

It surely seemed as if they had been singularly 
fortunate in taking this step, for they had gone 
hardly more than a block when they met a boy 
about ten years old, who appeared to know all 
about it. It was not a difficult matter to make 
his acquaintance, for he met their advances con- 
siderably more than half-way, and in a few mo- 
ments the three were comfortably seated on some 
barrels near the pier, discussing the situation. 


CHAPTER II. 


HOME AGAIN. 

“You see you have to go up that way to get 
to New York,” said the boy, pointing with an 
air of wisdom, “ an’ if you fellers want to get 
home real bad. I’ll carry you there to-morrow 
myself in a boat.” 

“How long would it take you?” asked Joe, 
just a trifle doubtful as to whether this boy 
could do as much as he said he could. 

“ Only two or three hours if we have a fair 
wind.” 

“ But we was all night cornin’ down in the 
steamer,” remarked Joe, quickly. 

“ That’s nothin’,” said the boy, contemptuously, 
“ for this boat I’m goin’ to take you in can sail 
more’n four times as fast as any steamer you 
ever saw. Why, she sailed right around Tom 
Stevens’s boat the other day, an’ there wasn’t 
25 


26 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


any wind at all. I tell you what it is, just you 
come up here with me an’ see her, then you’ll 
know what she can do.” 

There was no reason why the boys should not 
accept the offer, since they had plenty of time at 
their disposal, and they started at once. 

“What’s your name ” asked Joe, thinking 
that perhaps it might be as well to call the boy 
by his right name, as to be obliged to attract 
his attention by “ say,” or “ look here.” 

“ Bartholomew West,” was the prompt reply, 
as the boy looked around much as if he ex- 
pected they had heard of him, and would recog- 
nize the name at once. Not seeing the flush 
of joy he had expected would lighten up the 
faces of his acquaintances when they knew who 
he was, he walked on ahead, much as if he were 
angry, until they arrived at the end of the street 
at the water’s edge. 

Bartholomew pointed to a beautiful little yacht 
that was riding at anchor a short distance from 
the shore, and said, in a tone of triumph : 

“ That’s the boat ! ” 

Joe and Ned stood looking at her with such 


I/OME AGAIN'. 


27 


undisguised admiration that Bartholomew seemed 
willing to forgive their ignorance in not knowing 
him, and at once entered into a detailed account 
of what the yacht had done in the way of sail- 
ing. 

“ Do you s’pose you could manage her } ” 
asked Joe. “You see I don’t know anything 
about boats, an’ of course this little shaver here 
don’t.” 

“ Manage her } Why, I could sail a whole 
ship all alone if I wanted to,” was the confident 
reply. “ Now you fellers be ready just as soon 
as it’s light to-morrow mornin’, an’ we’ll start.” 

“ Then you’ll have to come back alone,” and 
Joe began to fear that they were accepting too 
much from this new acquaintance, who must 
belong to some important family in the city 
since he was the owner of such a beautiful 
craft. 

“ Well, I hain’t sure but I shall stay in New 
York after I get there, an’ if I do I’ll give 
you fellows lots of sails in the boat. You see 
I’m — ” 

Bartholomew had assumed a confidential tone. 


28 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


much as if he were about to impart some im- 
portant secret; but evidently concluded not to, 
since he stopped suddenly, and looked as if he 
had already betrayed too much. 

“ Why can’t we go now } ” asked Ned, who was 
growing more and more homesicjc each moment. 

“We can’t start until to-morrow morning,” 
said Bartholomew, decidedly, “ ’cause we couldn’t 
get the boat till then. You see some of the men 
will be aboard of her pretty soon now.” 

“ Couldn’t get the boat ? ” repeated Joe, in sur- 
prise. “ Why can’t you have her whenever you 
want her, if she’s yours ? ” 

“Well — well — you see some other fellers are 
going to have her to-day,” said the boy, in confu- 
sion. 

“ If she was my boat I wouldn’t lend her to 
anybody,” said Ned, gazing at the beautiful 
yacht. 

“ I have to sometimes,” said Bartholomew ; 
“ but we can get her to-morrow mornin’ if we’re 
down here early enough.” 

It never occurred to Joe that his new ac- 
quaintance intended to steal the yacht ; he had 


HOME AGAIN. 


29 


no idea but that the boy owned her, although 
it did seem a little queer that he did not offer 
to take them on board then. “ But what’ll we 
do all day an’ to-night ” he asked, finally. “We 
hain’t got but ninety cents, an’ — ” 

“Ninety cents!” exclaimed the yacht-owner. 
“ Have you fellers got ninety cents } ” 

Joe explained how it happened that they had 
that amount, and Master West was so delighted 
that he acted very much as if he wanted to 
embrace them. “You stay right with me,” he 
said, as he took each by the arm in an affection- 
ate manner, walking with them directly away 
from the water. “ I’ll show you where you can 
sleep, an’ nobody won’t ever find you. Now 
come up with me, so’s we can get what we 
want.” 

“ What we want?” 

“ Why, yes, if we’re goin’ to sail from here to 
New York we’ve got to have some things to eat; 
so we’ll go up an’ get some candy, an’ some 
peanuts, an’ crackers, an’ a lot of things.” 

Joe was not just certain whether or no it was 
wise for him to spend his money, although it did 


30 A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

seem as if it was his duty to do so since Barthol- 
omew was going to take them home. 

He did as the owner of the yacht proposed, 
spending half of his money in the purchase of 
such dainties as Master West fancied, and then, 
in order to see if they had been cheated, as 
Bartholomew proposed, they sat down on a door- 
step to test the goods. 

It seemed to Joe as if Master West ate a 
much larger proportion of the articles he had 
purchased than was strictly necessary in order 
to learn whether they were as they had been 
represented, since more than half the stock had 
been consumed before the question was decided. 
Of course Ned and Joe ate some of the dainties; 
but they only tasted of them, while Bartholomew 
had a regular feast, and only stopped when, by 
eating as much as possible, he had lost his 
appetite for such things. 

After this repast was ended, and the remain- 
der of the eatables packed away in Joe’s and 
Ned’s pockets, Bartholomew appeared to have 
lost his desire to show his new acquaintances 
around the city ; he still said that he would carry 


HOME AGAIN. 


31 


them to New York on the following morning, 
but he seemed to think that they should be able 
to care for themselves until then. 

“ I’ve got to lay ’round so’s to find out whether 
anybody’s goin’ to be on the boat this eveni^n’,” 
he said, “an’ you fellers had better wait on the 
wharf awhile. Perhaps we can all sleep on 
board the boat to-night, an’ if we can. I’ll come 
back for you and take you aboard.” 

“ Where are you going now.^^ ” asked Joe. 

“ Over near where the boat is.” 

“ Why can’t we go with you 

“ It wouldn’t do, ’cause somebody might see 
you, an’ then they would know what we was up 
to.” 

“What if they should asked Joe, quickly, 
beginning to think that the yacht-owner did 
not g,ppear to have many rights on board of 
his own vessel. “ Can’t you take your boat 
when you want to ? ” 

“ Oh, I’ll tell you all about it to-morrow, after 
we’re on the way to New York,” said Master 
West. “ You stay right around the wharf till 
I come back.” 


32 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


Before either Joe or Ned could prevent him, 
he had darted away in the direction of the yacht, 
leaving his two friends at whose expense he had 
just been feasting to look out for themselves. 

“ Do you know, Ned, I don’t believe that feller 
owns the whole of the boat, ’cause he acts so 
queer about her, an’ I’m almost sorry we spent 
that money for what we did. You see, it belongs 
to the office, and when I get back an’ tell the 
manager that I had to spend it to get something 
to eat, he’ll take it out of my wages.” 

“ I wish we was home, an’ my papa would give 
you the money to pay back,” said Ned, warmly. 
“ Oh, dear, have we got to stay here a whole 
night.?” 

“ I’m ’fraid we have, Ned, an’ it makes me feel 
awful bad to think about mother. She must be 
about crazy ’cause I don’t come home, an’ as 
likely as not the manager thinks I run away 
with the money.” 

''My papa had gone away, so he don’t know 
that I didn’t come home,” said Ned, with quiver- 
ing lip ; “ but my mamma is feeling as bad as 
yours is.” 


HOME AGAIN, 


33 


“Yes, Ned, but we won’t talk about it now, 
’cause it don’t make me feel very good. We’ll 
wait awhile, an’ if that West boy don’t come, 
we’ll start off somewhere, ’cause I’d rather walk 
than stay ’round here.” 

“ Don’t you s’pose the captain of the steam- 
boat would let us go back, if we should tell him 
what made us come here } I’m sure my mother 
would pay him when we got home,” said Ned. 

“ Do you s’pose she’d have money enough .? 
You know it would cost much as two or three 
dollars apiece.” 

“ Course she’s got enough. Why, sir, if she 
wanted as much as twenty dollars she could 
get it, my mother could.” 

“ Then let’s go right down to the steamboat 
an’ see if they’ll take us, — you are a sensible 
little chap,” and Joe started to his feet; but he 
stopped, suddenly, as a second thought came to 
him. “ It wouldn’t do to go, ’cause the man 
that stole you is waitin’ round there, prob’ly, 
an’ he’d catch you sure.” 

“ Oh, dear. I’d forgot all about him,” said the 
child. 


34 A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

Joe made no reply; seated on a pile of boards, 
with his chin in his hands, he gave himself up to 
the most gloomy reflections, so hopeless did the 
case seem. He had remained in this sorrowful 
attitude some moments, with Ned silent by his 
side, when both were startled by a shout: 

“ Hello, there ! why hain’t you up to the 
office } ” 

Joe sprang to his feet. He saw just behind 
him a boy about his own age, in the uniform 
of a district messenger. “ Why, you hain’t 
one of our boys, are you } Where did you 
come from ? ” continued the newcomer. 

Joe looked first at the uniform and then at 
the boy that wore it, as if uncertain whether he 
could trust the evidence of his own senses. 

“Well,” said the messenger, “what’s the mat- 
ter with you now ? Does it overcome you very 
much to see me } ” 

“ Where did you come from ? ” asked Joe. 

“ Come from ? Why, I belong here. What 
are you doin’ ? Where do you work } ” 

“ In New York.” 

“New York!” exclaimed the boy, and he ut- 


HOME AGAIN. 


35 


tered a prolonged whistle. “ You don’t mean 
to say that you was sent way down here with 
a message, do you } ” 

“See here,” Joe made up his mind in an 
instant, “ I’m in an awful bad scrape, an’ so 
is this little feller ; sit down here an’ I’ll tell 
you all about it.” 

“ All right ; but I guess we’d better get behind 
those barrels, ’cause if anybody should see me 
they’d think I ought to go back to the office, 
even if I have got half an hour off.” 

A convenient place for conversation was found 
behind some barrels, where the two were almost 
completely screened from view, and then Joe 
told the story; but not without many interrup- 
tions in the way of exclamations of surprise, 
almost incredulity, from his brother messenger. 
He concluded by telling the story of their meet- 
ing with Master West, and his offer to take them 
to New York in his yacht. 

“ Was it Bart West that you met.^^ ” asked the 
boy. 

“ His name was Bartholomew.” 

“ An’ where is the boat i ” 


36 A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 

Joe explained, as well as he was able, the lo- 
cality in which they had seen the yacht, and the 
messenger said, quickly : 

“ Well, you don’t want to have anything to do 
with that feller, ’cause he’s a reglar duffer. He’s 
too lazy to work, an’ he hangs ’round the city 
like a loafer. That boat hain’t his at all. I 
know who owns her. Bart West hain’t got 
money enough to buy one end of a punt. He 
was goin’ to steal the yacht, that’s what he was 
goin’ to do, if he was goin’ to do anything, an’ 
if you had gone off with him, you’d got into a 
pile of trouble.” 

Quite naturally, both Joe and Ned were 
alarmed at the narrow escape they had had, for 
they would have gone with Bart West without 
a question. 

“Well, how are you goin’ to get home?” 
asked the Providence boy. 

“ That’s just what we don’t know. We don’t 
dare to go to the steamer, ’cause that man might 
catch Ned again. I’m afraid we’ll have to walk, 
if that West boy don’t own the boat.” 

“Walk!” echoed the messenger, “why, it 


//0M£ AGAIN-. 


37 


would take you a year to do it, an’ then I hain’t 
sure that you could get there.” 

“Well, what can we do Can’t help us 
somehow, if you know all the folks here } ” 

“ I s’pose I could,” said the new acquaintance, 
as he rubbed his chin, reflectively. “ If I should 
tell our manager about it, I guess he could tele- 
graph to New York to find out if it was all right ; 
an’ then he could fix it so’s you could go back on 
the boat; but he couldnt send the other feller, 
’cause, you see, he hain’t one of the crowd.” 

“ Oh, don’t go away an’ leave me here, will 
you, Joe.f^” asked Ned, imploringly, a sense of 
utter loneliness coming over him as he thought 
of what might happen to him if he were left 
alone. 

“ Indeed, I won’t, Ned. If we can’t get home 
together. I’ll stay and go with you, if we have to 
walk every step of the way.” 

Ned stole his hand shyly into Joe’s, to thank 
him for the promise, and the messenger said, in a 
tone of superior wisdom : 

“ You see, if he was a messenger, like we are, it 
would be all right ; but I’m most sure our man- 


38 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


ager wouldn’t have anything to do with him. 
But you stay here, an’ I’ll tell him what you’ve 
said, an’ then I’ll come back to let you know 
what he’s going to do about it.” 

The boy leaped out of the hiding-place, run- 
ning swiftly towards the office, as if he would 
scorn to walk while he had his uniform on, and 
Ned and Joe were left alone, two very forsaken- 
feeling little fellows, even though there was a 
faint prospect that they might escape from their 
present difficulty. 

Jpe was obliged to repeat, again and again, to 
his weary little charge, that he would remain with 
him, and they were talking of what they would 
do in case they were obliged to walk home, 
when suddenly they heard Master West calling 
to them. 

“ Well, what is it ? ” asked Joe, coolly, feeling 
that he had good cause for complaint against 
this boy, who would have allowed them to get 
into trouble by going away in a stolen boat. 

“ Come up-town, an’ let’s get some more 
things, for we hain’t got half enough to last us 
to New York.” 


HOME AGAIN. 


39 


“ I guess not,” said Joe. “ I hain’t goin’ to 
spend any more money for such things, and, too, 
we won’t go with you in the boat if we never 
get home.” 

“ Why not ? ” and Bartholomew stood before 
them, a perfect picture of painful surprise. 

“Well, you see we hain’t sure that you own 
the boat, an’ we concluded not to run any 
risks.” 

“ S’posen I don’t own the boat, so long as I 
can get her. I’ll fix all that, an’ you’ve only got 
to come along.” 

“ I guess we can walk, thank’ee. We’d rather 
do that than steal a boat.” 

“ Oh, you’re too much of a girl to suit me, if 
you don’t dare to do a little thing like that,” 
said Master West, loftily, and then he walked 
slowly away, much as if he expected the boys 
would call him back, when they found that 
he was really intending to leave them to their 
fate. 

“ We want to get home pretty bad,” said Joe ; 
“but not so much that we’re willing to steal a 
boat to go in.” 


40 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


“ All right, you can stay here, an’ starve to 
death, for all I care. You’ll be sorry, though.” 

“ Youll be sorry, Bart West,” cried a voice 
from up the street ; “ but you can’t get any mes- 
senger boy to go in with you when you’re goin’ 
to steal Mr. Longley’s yacht.” 

“ Then it was you, George Browning, who told 
these fellers that the boat wasn’t mine ? ” said 
Bart, angrily. 

“ Yes, it was,” replied the messenger, who ap- 
peared excited, “ an’ these fellers can get home 
without you, for our manager says he’ll pay their 
fare. He telegraphed to New York, an’ if the 
little feller’s name is Edward Hawley, he’s goin’ 
to give ’em all they want to eat, an’ buy a state- 
room, an’ they are to go like reg’lar swells.” 

“ ’Tis Edward Hawley,” piped Ned, jumping 
up on his tired little feet. 

It was not many seconds before Joe and Ned 
were out from behind the barrels, questioning 
George, in breathless excitement. 

“ The manager of your office had telegraphed 
down here to know if you come on the boat,” 
said George, as soon as the boys gave him an 


HOME AGAIN. 


41 


opportunity to speak, “ an’ to pay your fare back 
if you was here. So when I told our manager, 
he knew all about it. Then when I told him 
about the other feller, he said folks in New York 
had been telegraphing all around the country for 
a boy by the name of Edward Hawley. Now 
you’d better come up to the office, an’ every- 
thing’ll be all right.” 

As may be imagined, it was not many mo- 
ments before Joe and Ned were telling their 
stories to the manager of the office in which 
George was employed, and then their troubles 
were over. The fact that they were in Provi- 
dence, and safe, was telegraphed to New York 
at once, and George was detailed to show the 
boys around the city until time for the boat to 
leave, for Mr. Hawley had sent word that Ned 
should be supplied with what he needed to make 
him comfortable and happy. 

Nothing more was seen of Master West, and 
the two boys returned to New York on the same 
steamer on which they had been involuntary 
passengers the night previous. 

“ Hello, there’s the man come to look for his 


42 


A DISTRICT MESSENGER BOY. 


valises,” said Joe, next morning, as he and Ned 
stood by the rail while the steamer was being 
warped into the dock. “ I s’pose he’ll be mad, 
now, ’cause I sent them on by express.” 

“Why, that's m'y father!" exclaimed Ned, 
when Joe had pointed his employer out from 
among the crowd on the pier. 

It was indeed the case ; and the reason why 
Mr. Hawley had not come to relieve Joe, was 
that word of Ned’s non-appearance at home had 
been sent to him nearly an hour before the 
steamer sailed. 

Joe went back to the office, after he had been 
home to see his mother, but he did not remain 
there very long, for Mr. Hawley gave him a po- 
sition in his store, in return for his kindness to 
Ned, and to-day the district messenger boy is 
in a fair way to become a successful merchant. 


DAN HARDY’S CRIPPY 




DAN HARDY’S CRIPPY. 


Among the flock of geese that toddled in and 
out of Farmer Hardy’s barn-yard last winter, 
hissing in protest at the ice which covered the 
pond so that there was no chance of a swimming 
match, was one remarkable neither for its beauty, 
nor its grace. This particular goose was gray, 
and was looked upon with no special favor by 
Mrs. Hardy, who had great pride in all the flock 
but the gray one. 

When it was a little fluffy, drab-colored gos- 
ling, one of the sheep had stepped on it, crushing 
out its life so nearly that Mrs. Hardy had no 
idea it would ever recover, but Dan begged for 
its life. He felt sure he could set the broken 
leg, and he pleaded so hard that his mother 
finally allowed him to make the attempt. 


46 


I?AJV HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


And he did succeed. The gosling was natu- 
rally a strong little thing, and, thanks to Dan’s 
nursing, was soon able to limp around the shed 
that had been converted into a hospital. One of 
its legs was nearly a quarter of an inch shorter 
than the other ; but the little fellow increased in 
strength as rapidly as he did in size, and seemed 
to consider Dan as his owner and especial pro- 
tector. 

Like Mary’s lamb, it followed Dan about 
whenever the opportunity offered, until “ Crippy ” 
— which was the name Dan had given it — was 
known in the village quite as well as the boy was. 

Many were the long walks, confidential chats, 
when the boy talked and the goose cackled, that 
Dan and Crippy had, and, when the preparations 
for the Thanksgiving festival were begun, the 
gray goose was decidedly the fattest in the flock. 
Dan had always given Crippy a share of his 
luncheon, or had supplied for him a separate and 
private allowance of corn, and by this very care 
of his pet did he get into serious trouble. 

“ Dan’s goose is the largest and the fattest, 
and I think we had better kill him for the 


BA AT HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


47 


Thanksgiving dinner,” Dan heard his father say, 
three days before Thanksgiving; and Mrs. Hardy 
had replied : 

“ I had thought of that ; gray feathers never 
bring as much money as white ones, and the 
goose is terribly in the way ; he is always in the 
house, and always directly under foot.” 

Dan could hardly believe his own ears. The 
thought of killing and eating Crippy seemed 
wicked. Why, he would as soon have thought 
his parents would serve him up for dinner, as 
Crippy, and as for eating any of his pet, it would, 
to his mind, be little short of cannibalism. 

“You wouldn’t be so wicked as to kill Crippy, 
would you, mother ? ” he asked, while the big 
tears came into his eyes, almost spilling over the 
lashes. 

“ Why not ? ” Mrs. Hardy was so busily en- 
gaged in her work of making mince pies that she 
did not notice the sorrow on Dan’s face. “Why 
not ? He’s only a goose, and gray. We’ve got 
to have one, and Crip is the fattest.” 

“ But, * mother, I couldn’t have poor Crippy 
killed. He an’ I do love each other so much.” 


48 


DAAT HARDY'S CRIPPY, 


“ Now don’t be foolish about a goose, Danny. 
Come help me stem these raisins.” 

Dan said nothing more, for he knew by the 
way she had spoken that his mother had fully 
made up her mind, and that it would be useless 
to try to induce her to change her cruel plans. 
He stemmed the raisins as she had requested ; 
but he worked as quickly as possible, and when 
the task was done he ran out to the barn. 

When the gray goose toddled towards him im- 
mediately he opened the barn door, cackling and 
hissing with delight at seeing his young master, 
the tears, which Dan had managed to keep back, 
came at last, and, with the goose in his arms, he 
seated himself on the barn floor with a feeling in 
his heart that he and Crippy were the two most 
unhappy and abused fellows in the world. 

“ O Crippy ! they say they’re goin’ to kill you, 
an’ I’d a heap sooner they’d kill me ! What 
shall we do, Crippy } ” 

The goose made no reply; he was perfectly 
content to nestle down in Dan’s arms, and, so 
far as he could see, he and his master were in 
remarkably comfortable quarters. 


DA AT HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


49 


Much as the goose had been petted by Dan, 
the affection bestowed upon him just then 
seemed to surprise him, and, while the boy was 
still crying over him, he struggled until he got 
away, when he limped over to the corn-bin as a 
gentle reminder that grain would please him far 
better than tears. 

During that day and the next Dan spent his 
time alternately begging for Crippy’s life and 
petting him ; but all to no purpose, so far as 
inducing his mother to change her mind was 
concerned. 

On the following morning the gray goose 
was to be killed, and Dan could see no way 
to save him. 

That afternoon he spent the greater portion 
of his time with the doomed Crippy, crying and 
talking until all the fowls must have wondered 
what the matter was, for, there being no almanac 
in the barn, of course they could have no idea 
Thanksgiving was so near. Suddenly Dan 
thought of a plan by which Crippy might be 
saved. It was a desperate one, and almost 
frightened him as he thought it over; but with 


50 


DAJV HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


his pet’s life in the balance he could not hesitate 
at anything. 

“ I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Crippy,” he said, 
as he succeeded in making the goose remain 
quietly in his arms by feeding him with corn. 
“ Uncle Robert lives in New York, an’ he’s 
awful good. I know if we could find him he 
could save you. Now I’ll get up in the night, 
an’ come out here for you. It’s only seven 
miles, an’ I’m most sure we could walk there 
in a day. Then if he won’t come out here to 
see mother. Thanksgiving will be gone, an’ 
they can’t have you for dinner.” 

Crippy swallowed the corn greedily, and Dan 
looked upon this as a sign that he not only 
understood what had been said, but was eating 
an unusually hearty meal by way of preparation 
for the journey. 

Under any less desperate circumstances Dan 
could not have been persuaded to go away from 
home for an hour without asking his mother’s 
permission, and even as he was situated then, he 
felt that he was about to do something which 
was almost wicked. But since he could save 


DAJV HARDV^S CRIPPY. 


51 


Crippy’s life in no other way, what could he 
do ? He almost felt as if by taking the goose 
away he was preventing his parents from com- 
mitting a crime, for it could hardly be less than 
one to kill so intelligent and loving a creature. 

But though he tried to persuade himself that 
what he was doing was, under the circumstances, 
a favor to his parents, there was a big lump in 
his throat as he did his work that night, and 
realized that in a few hours neither his father 
nor his mother would know where he was. He 
was more than usually careful about the kin- 
dling-wood and the water, and when his mother 
spoke to him so kindly, he had the greatest 
difficulty in keeping his secret. 

It was only the thought that he was by no 
means “ running away ” that prevented him from 
telling his mother what he intended to do. He 
argued with himself that he was only going to 
uncle Robert’s on business, and that he should 
return the day after he arrived there ; that would 
be entirely different from running away. 

During the evening Dan worked hard at a 
message which he was to leave for his parents, 


52 


DA AT HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


feeling obliged to take every precaution lest they 
should see what he was about; and after the 
most painful efforts he succeeded in printing 
this note : 

CRIP & ME HAVE GORNE TO UNKLE ROBERTS TO 
GET HIM TO COME UP HERE TO KOAX YOU NOT TO 
KILL CRIP. WE WILL COME RIGHT BACK. 

DANIEL K. HARDY. 

Dan had six cents, which he had earned carry- 
ing milk, and his preparations for the journey 
consisted simply in putting these in his pocket, 
together with some corn for Crippy, and in plac- 
ing the little clock and some matches by the side 
of his bed, so that he might be able to tell when 
the proper time had come for him to start. 

Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Hardy were surprised 
by Dan’s unusually affectionate manner when 
he bade them good-night; but, if they were, 
nothing was said about it, and the inmates of 
the Hardy farmhouse retired on the night be- 
fore the proposed execution of poor Crippy at 
the usual early hour of nine o’clock. 

Dan’s idea was to lie awake until three in the 


DAJV HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


53 


morning, then steal cautiously out of the house, 
get Crippy, and start. But it was much harder 
work to remain awake than he had fancied, and 
before he had been in bed an hour he was sleep- 
ing soundly. 

But even though his eyes persisted in closing 
despite his will, Dan did not sleep very long at a 
time. He was awake at least every half hour, 
and his small stock of matches was exhausted as 
early as two o’clock. With no means of pro- 
curing a light, it would be impossible for him to 
know when the time had come, and, since he did 
not dare to go to sleep again, he concluded it 
would be better to set out at once than run 
the risk of delaying until his father should 
awaken. 

During the time he was making very awkward 
attempts to dress himself in the darkness, his 
fingers trembling violently, both from fear and 
the cold, he fancied each moment that he could 
hear his parents moving around, as if they had 
suspected his purpose, and were on the alert 
to prevent him from carrying it into execution. 
It seemed, too, as if each particular board in the 


54 


DA AT HARDY'S CRIPPY. 


floor creaked in protest at what he was doing, 
and to give the alarm. 

The note which was to inform his parents of 
where he had gone was placed conspicuously on 
the chair by the bed, where his mother could not 
fail to see it when she came to awaken him ; and 
when that was done his journey seemed more 
like some demand of business, and less like dis- 
obedience to what he knew his parents’ com- 
mands would be. 

He did finally succeed in dressing himself, al- 
though his jacket was buttoned in a very curious 
fashion ; and then, with his shoes and mittens in 
his hands, he started down-stairs. If the boards 
of the floor had tried to arouse his parents, the 
stairs appeared bent on awakening the entire 
household, — although he did his best to put as 
little weight as possible upon them, they creaked 
and screamed in a most alarming fashion. 

It seemed strange to him that his parents could 
sleep while so much noise was being made ; but 
when he finally succeeded in closing the outside 
door behind him, there had been no sign made 
to show that his departure was known. 


DAJV HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


55 


Dan was so nervous and excited that he hardly 
felt the frost when he stepped, with stockinged feet, 
upon the snow ; but instinct prompted him to put 
on his boots and mittens, and it only remained to 
get Crippy and start. 

He almost expected that the goose would be 
waiting for him at the stable door when he opened 
it; but, since he knew he should find his pet in 
the warm box he had made for him, he was not 
greatly disappointed at not seeing him ready for 
the journey. Besides, he had come an hour before 
he told Crippy he would be there, which was suf- 
ficient reason why the goose was not ready and 
anxious to start. 

After groping his way around the barn to the 
corner in which was Crippy’s sleeping apart- 
ment, Dan was considerably surprised because 
the goose was so very careless, both in regard 
to his safety, and the possibility of arousing 
the household. He cackled and hissed when 
Dan took him from the box, as if he preferred 
to be killed and served up for the Thanksgiving 
dinner, rather than go out-of-doors so early on a 
cold morning. 


56 


jDAAT HARDY’S CRIPPY. 


Dan whispered that he knew it was hard to be 
obliged to start so early, but that they must do 
so, and the more he explained matters the harder 
the goose struggled, until it seemed much as if 
the attempt to save Crippy’s life would be a dis- 
mal failure. 

“ I’m doin’ this so’s you won’t have to be 
killed, Crippy,” whispered Dan, as he held the 
goose tightly clasped in his arms, “an’ it does 
seem’s if you might help a feller, instead of tryin’ 
to wake up father an’ mother.” 

Perhaps Crippy was weary with struggling, — 
Dan thought he began to realize his position, 
— for he ceased all protests after his master’s 
last appeal, and, with his head tucked under 
Dan’s coat, submitted quietly to the rescue. 

If he had not repeated to himself so many 
times that he was not running away from home, 
but simply going to uncle Robert’s, to save poor 
Crippy’s life, Dan would have felt that he was 
doing something wrong because of the warning 
cries uttered by everything around. The stable 
door, when he tried to close it softly, shut with a 
spiteful clatter, and even the snow gave forth 


DAAT HARDY'S CRIPPY. 


57 


a sharp, crunching sound, such as he had never 
heard before. But he must keep on, for to re- 
main would be to see the plump, brown body of 
poor Crippy on the Thanksgiving dinner-table, 
while to go on would be, at the worst, but a few 
hours’ discomfort, with Crip’s life as the reward. 

Once they were out-of-doors Crippy behaved 
much as if he had suddenly realized how impor- 
tant it was for him to get away from the Hardy 
farm, and Dan had no trouble with him while he 
was passing the house. 

There seemed to be an unnatural stillness 
everywhere, amid which the crunching of the 
dry snow sounded with a distinctness that al- 
most frightened the boy, who was simply going 
to his uncle Robert’s to spend a day or two. 
But finally Dan was on the main road, where the 
snow was frozen so hard that his footsteps could 
not be heard as distinctly, and where the two 
tracks worn smooth by the runners of the 
sleighs lay spread out before him, looking like 
two satin ribbons on white broadcloth. 

Dan trudged slowly on, his heart growing 
lighter as the moments went by and he knew 


58 


BAN HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


he had actually gotten away without arousing 
any one ; but after he had walked sorae distance 
he began to realize how heavy Crippy was. He 
had thought he could carry his pet almost any 
length of time; but at the very commencement 
of his journey his arms began to ache. 

“ It’s no use, Crippy, you’ll have to walk some 
of the way,” he said, as he put the goose on the 
snow, and then started off to show him he must 
follow. Now a moonlight promenade on the 
snow, in the morning, with the thermometer 
several degrees below zero, was not at all to 
Crip’s liking, and he scolded most furiously in 
his goose dialect, but he took good care to run 
after his master at the same time. 

As Mrs. Hardy had said, Crippy was very fat, 
and when he toddled on at full speed he could 
only get along about half as fast as his master, 
so that Dan’s journey was made up with alter- 
nately trudging over the frozen road, and wait- 
ing for his pet to overtake him. 

And soon it was necessary to make a change 
even in this slow way of travelling, for before 
Crippy had been half an hour on the road he 


JDAJV HAI^DY^S CRIPPY. 


59 


began to evince the most decided aversion to 
walking, and it became necessary for Dan to 
take him in his arms again. On he walked, 
carrying Crippy the greater portion of the time, 
and coaxing him along when it became abso- 
lutely necessary for him to give his aching arms 
a little relief, until the sun came up over the 
hills, and he could see the great city but a short 
distance ahead of him. 

During all this time he had not stopped once 
to rest ; but now, since he was so near his desti- 
nation, at such an early hour in the morning, he 
sat down in the snow, and began to arrange with 
the discontented Crippy as to how they might 
best find uncle Robert, for Dan had not the 
slightest idea of where his relative lived. 

“ I’ll tell you what we’ll do. Crip,” he said, as 
he gave the goose a handful of corn, contenting 
himself with half a biscuit he had taken from the 
supper-table the night previous. “ We’ll walk 
right along till we see uncle Robert, or some 
of the folks. It’s the day before Thanksgiving, 
you know, an’ some of ’em will be sure to be out 
buyin’ things.” 


6o 


DAN HARDY'S CRIPPY. 


Crippy had finished eating the corn as his 
master ceased speaking, and he looked up side- 
ways into Dan’s face much as if he doubted 
the success of their plan if carried out in that 
manner. 

“ Well, if we don’t find him that way, we’ll ask 
some of the boys, an’ they’ll be sure to know,” 
said Dan, replying as earnestly to Crippy’s look 
as if his pet had spoken. 

Then the weary journey was resumed, much 
to Crippy’s displeasure, even though he was 
carried comfortably in Dan’s arms, and it was 
not until the outskirts of the city were reached 
that the goose was requested to walk. There 
the pavements were free from snow, and Crippy 
could move along much faster than on the icy 
road; but yet his progress was far from satis- 
factory. 

The great number of people, all of whom re- 
garded the boy and the goose curiously, bewil- 
dered both the travellers. More than once, 
when Dan was sure Crippy was close at his 
heels, on looking around he would see the 
goose, standing on one foot near the curb- 


DAJV HAI^BY'S CRIPPY. 


6l 


stone, looking sideways at the street, much as 
if trying to decide whether he would continue 
to follow his master, or toddle back home as 
fast as his legs of unequal length would carry 
him. 

“ Oh, come on, Crippy,” Dan said, in a tone 
that showed plainly how tired and discouraged 
he was. “We sha’n’t ever find uncle Robert this 
way, an’ if a strange dog comes along, where will 
you be } ” 

It seemed very much as if Crippy had not 
realized that he might chance to meet a dog, 
until Dan spoke of it, for then he ran hurriedly 
on, as if he fully understood the danger that 
might come to him by loitering on the way. 

But there were other enemies besides dogs, 
which Crippy was to meet with, as he and Dan 
learned when they reached the more densely 
populated portions of the city, and those ene- 
mies were boys. 

Dan was walking slowly on, looking first at 
the houses, in the hope of seeing some of his 
uncle’s family, and then at Crippy, to make 
sure he was following, when half a dozen boys, 


62 


DAN NARDY^S CRIPPY. 


who had been watching the singular pair from 
the opposite side of the street, made a sudden 
dash at the goose. 

The first intimation Dan had that his pet was 
in danger was when he heard the shouts of the 
boys, followed by Crippy’s angry hiss, and the 
flapping of his wings. Quickly turning, Dan 
saw the goose closely pressed by the boys, all 
of whom were trying to catch him, and some 
of whom already had one or more feathers as 
trophies. 

It did not take Dan many moments to catch 
his pet up in his arnls, and then he stood ready 
to do battle for the goose, while the city boys 
advanced towards him, threateningly. 

There could have been but one result to such 
a battle, where six boys •attacked one who was 
hampered in his movements by the goose, and 
some serious injury might have been done to 
both Dan and Crippy, had not a policeman 
come from around the corner just at that in- 
stant. Dan’s assailants fled at the sight of the 
officer, and the country boy, with his heavy, noisy 
burden, continued on his journey. 


DA AT IIARDV’S CRIPPY. 


63 


There was no further interruption for nearly 
an hour; for when Dan carried the goose in his 
arms he was by no means the object of curiosity 
he was with Crippy following him. At the ex- 
piration of that time it dawned upon him that 
in a place as large as New York it was useless 
for him to walk around in the hope of meeting 
his uncle, or any of his family. 

“ I declare, I don’t know what to do, Crippy,” 
he said, as he seated himself on a doorstep with 
the goose by his side, and looked mournfully 
up and down the street. “ I shouldn’t wonder 
if we hadn’t been more’n half-way ’round the 
city in all this time, an’ yet we hain’t seen 
any of uncle Robert’s folks. What shall we 
do.?” 

Crippy made no reply to the question ; but a 
boy about Dan’s size, who was looking wonder- 
ingly at the goose, as he stood on his shortest 
leg in a mournful way, spoke : 

“ Wot is it yer don’t know wot ter do .? ” 

“ I don’t know how to find my uncle Robert. 
Crippy an’ me come down to see him, an’ now 
we can’t find his house.” 


64 


DA AT //A ANDY'S CRIPPY. 


“ Do you call him Crippy ? ” asked the boy, as 
he nodded towards the goose. 

“Yes, he’s Crippy Hardy. Mother was goin’ 
to kill him for dinner to-morrer, so we come 
down here to get uncle Robert to go up an’ see 
about it.” 

“ How far have you come } ” 

“ Seven miles.” 

“ Did you walk } ” 

“ Every step.” 

“ Well,” said the boy, as he looked at Crippy 
in a critical way, “it seems to me that’s a mighty 
mean kind of a goose ter walk so far fur. He 
hain’t handsome no ways, an’ I think he’d look 
a good deal better on ther table roasted, than he 
does out here on ther street.” 

Up to that moment Dan had been disposed to 
trust this boy who was so friendly; but when 
he spoke so slightingly of Crippy, he was disap- 
pointed in him. 

“You don’t know Crippy, or you wouldn’t 
say that,” replied Dan, gravely. “ I would walk 
seventeen times as far if it would keep him from 
gettin’ killed.” 


jDAJV //ARBY'S crippy. 


65 


“ Well, I tell yer wot it is,” and the boy spoke 
like one thoroughly conversant with geese and 
their ways, “he’s got ter be a good deal better’n 
he looks, ter ’mount to anything.” 

“ An’ he is,” replied Dan ; and then he gave 
the stranger a full account of Crippy’s sagacity 
and wisdom, with such success that, when he had 
finished, the goose evidently stood high in the 
city boy’s estimation. 

“ He’s prob’ly a mighty nice kind of a goose,” 
said the boy ; “ but it seems to me if I had a pet 
I’d want one that could sleep with me, an’ you 
know you couldn’t take this goose to bed.” 

“ I could if mother would let me, an’ I don’t 
see why she won’t, for I know Crippy would 
just snuggle right down as good as anybody 
could.” 

For some time the two discussed the question 
of pets in general, and Crippy in particular, and 
then the city boy remembered that his mother 
had sent him on an errand which should have 
been done an hour before. 

Dan felt more lonely than ever after this new- 
made friend had gone, and, with Crippy in his 


66 


DAJV I/ARDY'S CRIPPY. 


arms, he started wearily out in search of uncle 
Robert, hardly knowing where he was going. 
In his bewilderment he had walked entirely 
around the same block four times, and an ob- 
servant policeman asked him where he was 
going. 

Under the circumstances, Dan did not require 
much urging to induce him to tell the man his 
story. 

“ Do you know your uncle’s name } ” asked 
the officer. 

“Uncle Robert Hardy.” 

“ What is his business — I mean, what kind of 
work does he do ? ” 

“He keeps store.” 

The officer led Dan to the nearest drug store, 
and there, after consulting the directory, told 
him there were several Robert Hardys men- 
tioned, at the same time giving him a list of 
the names. 

Dan took the paper with the written direc- 
tions upon it, feeling more completely at a loss 
to know how to proceed than he had before, and 
it was in a dazed way that he listened to the 


DAN HARDY'S CRIPPY. 6 / 

instructions as to how he should find the nearest 
Hardy. 

But he started bravely off, still carrying 
Crippy, who seemed to have doubled in weight, 
and when he had walked half an hour in the 
direction pointed out by the policeman, he ap- 
peared to be no nearer his destination than 
when he started. 

“ What can we do, Crippy ” he cried, as 
again he took refuge on a doorstep, weary, 
hungry, and footsore. He had seen no oppor- 
tunity to buy a breakfast with his six cents; it 
was then long past his usual time for dinner, 
and his hunger did not tend to make him more 
cheerful. 

The goose was as unable to answer this ques- 
tion as he had been the ones Dan had previously 
asked, and the only reply he made was a loud 
cackling, which, in his language, signified that he 
thought it quite time that he had some dinner. 

By this time, and Dan had not been on the 
doorstep more than five minutes, a crowd of 
boys gathered around, all disposed to make 
sport of the goose, and to annoy the boy. 


68 


DAJV HARDY'S CRIPPY. 


“ Say, country, why don’t you sell your 
goose ? ” 

“ Where did the bird find you ? ” 

“ Does yer mother know you’re so far away 
from home ? ” 

These and other equally annoying questions 
Dan listened to, until he could no longer control 
himself, and he cried to his tormentors : 

“ See here, boys, if you had somethin’ you 
thought a good deal of, an’ it was goin’ to be 
killed an’ roasted for dinner, what would you 
do ? ” 

The boys were too much surprised by the 
question to reply, and Dan continued, earnestly : 

“ This goose is Crippy, an’ I’ve had him ever 
since he was a baby, an’ got his leg broke. We 
come in here to find uncle Robert so’s he could 
tell mother not to kill poor Crip, an’ now we 
can’t find him, an’ — an’ — well, we’re jest two as 
lonesome fellers as you ever saw, an if you knew 
jest how we did feel you wouldn’t stand there 
pokin’ fun at us.” 

For a moment none of Dan’s tormentors 
spoke, and then the tallest one said, sympa- 


BA AT HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


69 


thetically, as he seated himself by the country 
boy’s side to show that he took both the boy 
and the goose under his protecting arm : 

“ They sha’n’t plague you any more, an’ ef I’d 
’a’ known how you was feelin’ I wouldn’t ’a’ said 
a word. Now tell us all about it.” 

Dan was in that frame of mind where he 
needed sympathy, and he told the whole story, 
while the entire party stood around, inter- 
rupting him now and then by exclamations of 
surprise that his parents should have been so 
cruel as to even think of killing that faithful 
Crippy. 

This consolation, even though it did Dan no 
material good, was very sweet to him, and he 
would have continued to sing the praise of his 
pet, had not one of the boys proposed that an 
effort be made to find uncle Robert’s house. 
Then each one had a different plan to propose, 
none of them thinking that at that hour — four 
o’clock in the afternoon — it might be an act of 
charity first to give Dan and Crippy something 
to eat. 

It surely seemed as if this discussion as to 


70 


DAN HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


how the search should be begun would continue 
until it would be too late to do anything, and 
while each one was stoutly maintaining that his 
plan was the best, an old-fashioned sleigh, drawn 
by a clumsy-looking horse, stopped directly op- 
posite where the boys were holding their con- 
ference. 

“ Why, father ! ” cried Dan, as he saw the 
occupant of the sleigh, and at the same time 
he hugged Crippy close to him as if he believed 
his father had come for the goose. 

“Well, Dan, you did find your uncle Robert, 
after all, didn’t you } ” asked Mr. Hardy as he 
alighted, covered old Dobbin carefully with the 
robe, and then went to where Dan was sitting, 
already deserted by his new-made friends, who 
feared Mr. Hardy was about to inflict some 
signal punishment. 

“ No, sir, I didn’t find him,” faltered Dan, 
wondering what his father would do to him 
and Crippy. 

“ Why, haven’t you been in yet .? ” 

“ In where ? ” asked Dan, in surprise. 

“In here, of course ; this is where your uncle 


DAJV HARDY'S CR/PPY. 7 1 

Robert lives,” and Mr. Hardy pointed to the 
house on the steps of which Dan had been 
sitting. 

To his great surprise, Dan learned that he 
had followed the policeman’s directions exactly; 
but, not knowing it, had neglected to look on 
the house doors for his uncle’s name. 

In a few moments more he and his father 
were in the house, while Crippy was in the 
kitchen actually gorging himself with food. 

When Mr. Hardy found the note Dan had 
left, he was not at all worried about his son’s 
safety; but when, later in the day, he had leisure, 
he started to the city for the travellers, and, driv- 
ing directly to his brother’s house, found them 
as has been seen. 

It is easy to understand that, after all this 
labor on Dan’s part to save his pet, Mr. Hardy 
readily promised that Crippy should be allowed 
to die of old age, instead of being killed and 
roasted, and Dan, with Crippy hugged very close 
to him, started for home with his father, sure 
that no boy in all the wide world would spend 
a merrier Thanksgiving than he. 


72 


DAN HARDY^S CRIPPY. 


Crippy was also happy on that day, if food 
could make him so, and it is safe to say that, 
if he survives the wonderfully big dinner Dan 
proposes to give him this year, he will live to 
a green old age. 


A NECKTIE PARTY 



A NECKTIE PARTY. 


CHAPTER I. 
si’s scheme. 

When Deacon Littlefield dismissed the pupils 
of the one school in the little town of Orland, 
on a certain day in December some years ago, 
he was at a decided loss to understand what 
caused such an excitement among them before 
they had walked the short length of the play- 
ground. The deacon had a very large bump 
of inquisitiveness on his bald head, which, per- 
haps, accounted for his great desire to know 
why nearly all the boys and girls had stopped 
beside the tiny brook that scolded and fretted 
all the long summer days away, but which was 
now closely encased in ice, and why they were 
75 


76 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


apparently holding a very animated discussion, 
despite the intensely cold weather. But the 
deacon’s bump of inquisitiveness was counter- 
balanced by one representing dignity, and he 
thought that it would be hardly the proper 
thing for a deacon and a school-teacher to be 
seen running through the snow with a skull-cap 
and dressing-gown on ; therefore he watched 
his pupils from the window, but without being 
able to satisfy his curiosity in the slightest 
degree. 

The girls and boys were indeed in a high 
state of excitement. 

On the noon of that same day, Agnes Morrell 
had, under injunctions of strictest secrecy, told 
Maria Gilman and Annie Rich of a certain 
plan which she had developed in her own mind. 
In some unaccountable way it had been whis- 
pered around until, before recess was over, nearly 
every one, excepting Deacon Littlefield, knew 
that Aggie proposed giving what she called “ a 
necktie party.” There were but two others 
who knew what kind of a party this could be, 
and they were Maria and Annie ; therefore it is 


S/^S SCHEME. 


77 


not to be wondered at that she was almost 
overwhelmed by questions from the other girls, 
even before she was fairly out of the school- 
house. 

As a matter of fact, the boys were equally 
interested ; but Si Kelly had said to his particu- 
lar friends, “ Now, don’t let on that we care a 
cent about the party, whatever it is ; ” and, act- 
ing under what was both advice and a command, 
none of the boys had condescended to ask any 
questions, although they took good care to be 
near Aggie when she finally explained the pur- 
pose of the party. 

“ Now, this is what it is,” she said, as she tied 
her muffler closer about her neck, and sought 
shelter from the cold wind behind the high 
board fence. “ All of us girls must meet as 
often as we can, during the coming week, to 
make aprons and neckties out of print. Only 
one apron and one necktie is to be alike, and 
Walt Haley and Mr. Dilloway are going to give 
us as much calico as we need.” 

“ I thought you said you was goin’ to have a 
party!” And Master Kelly, forgetting his own 


78 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


caution to the boys not to appear interested in 
the scheme, looked decidedly disappointed. 

“ So I am ; but we are going to get money 
enough out of it to give aunt Betsey Bolton a 
nice present.” 

“ Oh, it’s some begging thing, is it 1 ” And 
although Si knew very well that he had not a 
single penny about his person, he plunged his 
hands deeply in his pockets, as if to prevent any 
inroad upon his wealth. 

“ It isn’t anything of the kind,” replied Aggie, 
indignantly, her face flushing with something 
very nearly resembling anger until her numer- 
ous freckles stood out quite prominently. Aggie 
had a large supply of freckles, as even a very 
near-sighted person could see. “We are going 
to have just as many boys as girls, and no one 
is obliged to come. But if any boy is willing to 
pay ten cents towards helping Aunt Betsey, he 
buys a necktie, and the girls each buy an apron. 
Either one will be worth the ten cents, so it 
hasn’t anything to do with begging.” 

“ But what do you have these things to sell 
for.? Why not let each one give ten cents for 


S/^S SCHEME. 


79 


going to the party ? ” asked Winny Curtis, in a 
tone that was very nearly a squeak, so shrill and 
peculiar was his voice. 

“ That’s the fun of it,” replied Aggie, trium- 
phantly. “ After we girls have made the neckties 
and aprons, mother will wrap each one in paper, 
so that no one can tell which is which. Then 
when a boy buys one of the packages, he sees 
what color of necktie he has got, and he hunts 
for the girl that has an apron like it. He must 
go in to supper with that girl, and walk home 
with her after the party is over.” 

“ Are you goin’ to have a supper } ” squeaked 
Winny. 

“Yes, mother says she will get a nice one for 
us, and that will be the only party I am to have 
this winter.” 

“ Coin’ to have cake } ” continued Winny, 
growing deeply interested, despite Si’s caution. 

“ Of course we are. It will be just like any 
party, except that each boy will have to pay 
attention to the girl whose apron matches his 
necktie. Now, we want all of the boys to come, 
because it won’t be any fun if there isn’t an even 


8o 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


pattern of aprons and neckties. We girls are 
going to Maria Gilman’s house to-night to begin 
the work, and to-morrow morning the boys that 
will come must tell us, so we’ll know just how 
many neckties to make.” 

Winny Curtis, thinking more of cake than of 
the charitable purpose of the party, and remem- 
bering how difficult it was for him to persuade 
any of the girls to allow him to walk home with 
them, because of his diminutive size and dis- 
agreeable voice, at once announced his deter- 
mination to be present. The other boys looked 
at Si, and as he did not choose to commit him- 
self, they also remained silent. 

Aggie saw at once that there were more diffi- 
culties in the way of this manner of giving a 
party than she had supposed. She knew that 
Winny, as the only boy present, would not make 
matters very lively, even though he should be 
willing to buy a dozen neckties, and escort as 
many of the girls home. 

“ We’ll have lots of fun,” she said, “ if you 
boys will come, for I’m sure the girls will all be 
there, and while we’re enjoying ourselves we 


S/'S SCHEME. 8 1 

shall know that we’re doing something to help 
aunt Betsey, who’s a good deal poorer this year 
than she was last.” 

Then Aggie understood from Si’s face that 
he was growing more and more opposed to the 
plan, and as her freckles came prominently 
into view again, she said, with *a show of dignity 
that even Deacon Littlefield might have been 
proud of, as she started down the street : “ Come, 
girls, let’s go home, so that we can get over to 
Maria’s house early. We’ll have the party, and 
we’lheach buy an apron.” 

Then Aggie walked away, followed by the 
girls, each one trying to appear as if perfectly 
indifferent whether any of the boys came to 
the party ; but all thinking that it would be a 
very tame affair if no one but Winny was 
present. 

On this particular year there had been but 
little to amuse the school children of Orland ; 
therefore the girls, if not the boys, had hailed 
Aggie’s scheme with delight. None of the girls 
had openly expressed any opinion as to the ad- 
visability of having the party for the double pur- 


82 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


pose of enjoying themselves and helping aunt 
Betsey; but it was easy to tell from their faces 
that the plan had their unqualified approval. 

Winny looked around him as the girls walked 
away. He had but just begun to understand that 
he was the only boy who had agreed to attend 
the party, and it "was by no means pleasant to 
be in opposition to Si Kelly, who had a most 
disagreeable way of making sport of any one 
who did not agree with him. Nothing but the 
thought that he could have a perfect feast of 
cake would have caused him to forget, even for 
an instant, that the self-appointed leader of the 
boys had not approved of the plan. Now, since 
he had accepted the invitation without first con- 
sulting Si, he believed it necessary for him to 
make some effort to correct what had undoubt- 
edly been a very grave error on his part. 

“ Of course I sha’n’t go if the other fellers 
don’t,” he said ; “ I thought you was all in for it 
when I spoke.” 

“ Well, you’d better run home now, an’ see 
how many ten-cent pieces you can find,” said 
Si, in what he intended should be a scornful 


S/*S SCHEME. 83 

tone. “You’ll be the only feller to the party, 
and you’ll have to buy a good many neckties.” 

“ Where are you fellers goin’.? ” asked Winny, 
feeling that he was in disgrace. 

“ That needn’t bother you any. We’re goin’ 
to have a reg’lar good time, — none of your ten- 
cent parties, — an’ you can go home now.” 

“ But if you are to have a time, I want to be 
in it.” 

“ Well, you can’t, ’cause you’ve agreed to go 
to Aggie Morrell’s an’ wear a ten-cent necktie; 
so run home, sonny, for we want to talk about 
what it wouldn’t do for you to hear.” 

Poor Winny ! his desire for cake had caused 
him to place himself in a most unenviable posi- 
tion. He knew that Si and all the boys would 
call him a “ girl baby ” during the remainder of 
the winter, and he was quite sure the fellows 
would get up some kind of a good time which 
would be more jolly than the girls’ party. He 
knew, however, that it would be useless for him 
to say anything more after having offended 
Si, and he went sorrowfully home, while the 
other boys remained to discuss a scheme their 


84 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


leader had decided upon on the impulse of the 
moment. 

“ We won’t have nothin’ to do with the ten- 
cent party,” the Oracle said, as soon as Winny 
was so far away that he could not hear. “ If 
the girls had come to us an’ asked what we 
thought of it, then p’rhaps we’d gone in with 
’em; but instead of that they fixed the thing 
up to suit themselves, an’ then told us what 
they was going to do. Now they can have their 
party, and Win Curtis will be the only feller 
there.” 

It is safe to say that fully half the boys wished 
to go to Aggie Morrell’s, and that nearly every 
one would have been pleased to have done some- 
thing towards helping poor old aunt Betsey ; but 
Si had said that it must not be. 

“ But what’ll we do to get even ? ” asked Lute 
Hubbard, anxiously. “We shall have to get up 
something that’ll be better than the party.” 

“ I guess that won’t be very hard to do,” re- 
plied Si, loftily. “ If I couldn’t get up a better 
kind of a time than following girls ’round by 
their apron-strings! We’ll each of us put in 


S/^S SCHEME. 85 

twenty-five cents to hire Grout’s two-horse sleigh, 
an’ go on a ride to Bucksport for all day.”« 

There was no question but that Si was right. 
A ride to Bucksport in Mr. Grout’s handsome 
sleigh was the one thing the boys could enjoy, 
and for the moment all desire to go to the party 
was forgotten. Each boy pledged himself to 
raise twenty-five cents, and with some little dif- 
ficulty in “ counting noses,” after which Si labo- 
riously figured up the total amount, it was 
learned that they would not only have money 
enough to hire the sleigh and horses, but there 
would be a surplus sufficient to buy such a 
goodly supply of candy and nuts as would make 
a really respectable feast. 

“ Now that’s all right, an’ we’ll have the sleigh- 
ride,” Si said ; “ but we’ve got to fix it with 
the girls. Let’s go back to the schoolhouse, 
an’ I’ll write a letter to Ag Morrell that’ll show 
her she can’t make us do just what she thinks 
best.” 

“ What’s the use of writin’ her a letter } ” 
asked Tom Hardy, who wanted to get home in 
time to do his chores before dark. “We can tell 


86 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


her in the mornin’ that we hain’t goin’ to the 
party, an’ that will settle it.” 

“ We’ll write the letter,” said Si, with the air 
of one who does not allow himself to be con- 
tradicted. “We’ve got to let the girls know that 
they can’t do jest what they want to with us, an’ 
now’s the time to do it.” 

Then Si led the way back to the schoolhouse, 
knowing that every boy would follow him ; and 
while Deacon Littlefield was making his prepa- 
rations to leave for the night. Master Kelly 
wrote a letter to Aggie. The composition and 
writing required no little amount of time and 
labor, for if Si was the leader of the school, 
he was not a remarkably brilliant scholar, and 
he was forced to pucker his brows and bite 
his tongue a good many times before it was 
completed. 

“There,” he said, as he handed it to Tom 
Hardy, after he had tried unsuccessfully to wipe 
off a large blot of ink with his coat sleeve, “ read 
that out loud, an’ if it won’t show them girls that 
they can’t do jest what they want to, then I don’t ^ 
know what will.” 


S/*S SCHEME. 


87 


Tom read, after considerable difficulty, the fol- 
lowing remarkable production, which, in justice 
to Si, is given here exactly as he wrote it: 

“mis morel us boys do NT WANTER COME TO 
YOUR PARTY CAUSE WE’rE COIN SOMEWHERE ELSE 
YOU THINK YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANTER 
JEST CAUSE YOUR GIRLS BUT YOU MAKE A MISTAK 
THE NEXT TIME YOU WANTER START ANYTHING 
YOUD BETTER ASK US ABOUT IT & THEN PURHAPS 
YOU CAN DO SOMETHING WE HOP YOULL HAVE A 
GOOD TIME AT YOUR TEN CENT PARTY BUT DONT 
GET TOO MUCH MONEY SO THAT ANT BETSEY WILL 
THINK SHE IS RICH & GET RECKLIS. THE BOYS.” 

No one ventured to express an opinion on this 
ungentlemanly epistle, although there were sev- 
eral in the party who did not think it fair to send 
such a reply to the kindly meant invitation, and 
Si said, with a satisfied air: 

“ I guess that’ll show ’em what kind of fellers 
we are! When they want to get up any more 
times, they’ll find out first what we think about 
it. I’ll put it in her readin’ book, where she’ll 


88 


A JS/ECKTIE PARTY. 


be sure to see it the first thing in the mornin’, 
an’ then I’ll talk to Grout about hirin’ his sleigh.” 

Even those who were opposed to sending so 
harsh a reply in answer to the invitation, did not 
remonstrate against the plans of their leader, and 
that which was believed would be the death-blow 
to the girls’ necktie party was left where Aggie 
would be sure to see it when she came to school 
next morning. 


CHAPTER II. 


aggie’s scheme. 

While it is a fact that nearly every boy who 
had allowed himself to be influenced by Si Kelly 
in the matter of refusing to attend Aggie Mor- 
rell’s necktie party was almost ashamed of him- 
self for permitting such a letter to be written 
without making protest, each one was at the 
schoolhouse early next day in order to learn 
“ what the girls were going to do about it.” 

Aggie had always been a favorite with her 
schoolmates ; but on this particular morning, 
when she came into the schoolhouse a quarter 
of an hour before Deacon Littlefield called the 
pupils to order, the boys, with the single excep- 
tion of Winny Curtis, were very careful to keep 
on their own side of the room. Every fellow 
was anxious to hear what she would say when 
she read Si’s note ; but no one was willing to put 

89 


9P 


A NECKTIE PARTY, 


himself forward more prominently than another, 
for even the redoubtable Si was rather afraid of 
Aggie’s temper. 

Although Winny had no idea of what the 
boys were intending to do, he was at the school- 
house quite as early as any one, in order to see 
all that might take place, as well as to make 
his peace with the boys, if possible. Si refused 
positively to have anything to do with the “ten- 
center,” as he called Winny, and the others 
gave him the “ cold shoulder,” acting very much 
as if they blamed him because they had refused 
to go to the necktie party. 

When the girls entered the schoolroom in a 
body, the boys were gathered in the back seats, 
strictly following Si’s commands to “ act as if 
nothin’ was up.” 

It was not many moments before Aggie and 
her friends understood that the boys had decided 
against the party; therefore, when, just before 
school was opened, the letter was found, it caused 
but little surprise. Indignation was the feeling 
that predominated, and had Deacon Littlefield 
not rapped loudly on his desk, as a signal that 


AGGIE SCHEME. 


91 


it was time for school to open, it is probable that 
Master Si would have heard from more than one 
of the “ten-centers” the exact opinion they all 
had regarding him. 

The good old deacon knew that some great 
and barely suppressed excitement among the 
pupils was the cause of the inattentiveness, even 
on the part of those who were usually the most 
studious, and he acted as if his life was particu- 
larly a burden to him during the hour^and a half 
that elapsed before recess. He had reproved 
nearly every pupil before half-past ten, and then 
he said, in his most severe tones : 

“ I hardly know whether you or I feel the 
most relieved because the forenoon session is 
half finished. If it was any other time than im- 
mediately before the holidays, I should think it 
my duty to inflict extra tasks upon you all ; but, 
under the circumstances, I propose to do just 
the reverse, by increasing the length of recess, 
giving you half an hour instead of fifteen min- 
utes. After that time, I expect you will be in a 
more fitting condition to give proper attention 
to your studies ; if such should not be the case. 


92 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


it will become my duty to remind you forcibly 
that you must not try to unite your amusements 
with your studies.” 

The boys, headed by Si, rushed out with 
their customary shout of joy, and the girls went at 
once into one of the classrooms, where an indig- 
nation meeting was held, but not called to order. 

“ It’s all Si Kelly’s doings ! ” exclaimed Aggie. 
“ The other boys would have been in favor of the 
party if he hadn’t said they shouldn’t. I should 
think they would be ashamed of themselves to 
come and go at his beck and call ! ” 

Si’s ears must have tingled during that recess, 
if there is any truth in the old saying that those 
useful members grow warm when their owner is 
being spoken ill of, for every girl present seemed 
to think it her duty to say something against 
him before she could discuss the matter with 
calmness. 

“ It’s no use standing here talking about that 
Kelly boy,” Maria Gilman said, at last. “ The 
bell will ring, and we sha’n’t have anything set- 
tled. The question is, what are we going to do ? 
Of course it is foolish for us to say that we can 


AGGIE'S SCHEME. 


93 


have very much of a party if all the boys stay 
away.” 

“We must have it,” said Annie Rich, decid- 
edly. “ It would never do to let them think that 
we had given up a good time just because they 
wouldn’t join us.” 

“Yes, we must have the party,” said Aggie, 
thoughtfully, “ and we must make the boys come, 
if possible. It’s no use for me to try to study 
now, and I’m going to ask the deacon to let 
me go home. Some of you girls catch Winny 
Curtis, and find out from him what the boys are 
going to do. I’ll think up some kind of a plan, 
and after school to-night we’ll see what can be 
done.” 

Then, refusing to answer a single question, 
but cautioning the girls not to look as if they 
cared in the slightest because of the letter, 
Aggie went into the schoolroom, where she had 
no difficulty in getting permission to go home. 
As a matter of fact. Deacon Littlefield would 
have been more pleased than his pupils could 
have been, if he could have given them all a 
holiday ; for trying to teach a number of boys and 


94 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


girls who were in the highest state of excitement 
over Aggie’s proposed necktie party, was a task. 

Maria and Annie “caught” Winny Curtis, as 
Aggie had proposed ; but the information they 
succeeded in getting from him was limited, for 
the reason that he knew nothing of the boys’ 
plans. All he could tell them was that “ Si 
Kelly was fixin’ it for a reg’lar high old time,” 
but, unfortunately, he had not been permitted to 
join them, even had he been disposed to give up 
the party, where it seemed probable that he 
would be the only boy among twenty-five or 
thirty girls. 

The boys did not have as much sport out of 
the letter as they had expected. The girls spoke 
to them pleasantly, without any reference to what 
had been said or done, and they began to fear 
that some plan was under way which might 
promise even better sport than their sleigh-ride. 

“ They’ll get up something to beat us,” Tom 
Hardy said, mournfully. “ It’s got to be a pretty 
smart boy who can get the best of a lot of girls, 
an’ I tell you what it is, fellers, they’ll serve us ’ 
out before we get through puttin’ on airs.” 


AGGIE'S SCHEME. 


95 


“ Now, don’t be an idiot, Tom,” cried Si, 
angrily. “ Do you want them to say that we 
can’t have a good time unless they’re along too? 
Our sleigh-ride will go ahead of anything they 
can get up, an’ they’ll be mighty sorry they can’t 
go with us.” 

“ P’rhaps so,” replied Tom, doubtfully; “but 
Aggie Morrell has gone home to cook up some 
plan, an’ we sha’n’t know whether we’re goin’ 
to have the best time or not till we find out what 
she’s about.” 

“If you want to go in with the ‘ten-centers’ 
an’ wear a calico necktie, why don’t you say 
so ? ” cried Si, now thoroughly angry. 

“ If I wanted to, I would,” retorted Tom. “ I 
stood by an’ saw you write that letter, an’ I’ll 
stick to it; but all the same I’m sorry we’ve 
done what we have, ’cause whenever we’ve 
started anything the girls have always gone in 
with us, an’ it looks mean.” 

More than one of the boys believed as Tom 
did, and the result was that the opponents of 
the necktie party held a stormy meeting, al- 
though no one had the slightest idea of “ back- 


96 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


ing down ” from the position he had taken under 
Si’s leadership. 

Aggie did not show herself to friend or foe 
until just as the afternoon recess was ended, 
and then she entered the schoolroom with such 
a demure, innocent look on her face that every 
girl knew she had decided upon some plan that 
promised success. Even Si Kelly looked anx- 
ious when she came in, and he immediately 
resolved to collect, on the very next morning, 
the money each of the boys was to pay towards 
the sleigh-ride, in order that no one might be 
tempted to join the necktie party. 

So attentive was Aggie to her studies during 
the remainder of the afternoon, that Deacon 
Littlefield must have thought it would be a good 
idea to send each one of his pupils home for a 
few hours. 

The girls tried in every way, except that of 
breaking the rule against whispering, to induce 
Aggie to give some hint of what she had de- 
cided upon, and the boys watched her jealously ; 
but neither to the one party nor the other did 
she make a sign betokening that she had even 


AGGIE'S SCHEME. 97 

thought of the necktie party since she went 
home. 

When school was dismissed, the boys, instead 
of rushing out at full speed, as was their custom, 
appeared to have a remarkable amount of trouble 
to arrange the books in their desks, and Deacon 
Littlefield was yet more surprised by seeing 
every one of his boy pupils loitering around 
as if pained at being obliged to go home. 

The girls understood at once that they might 
have some trouble to hold a meeting in the 
schoolroom and at the same time prevent the 
boys from knowing what was said or done, and 
they adjourned to the classroom, locking the 
door behind them. 

“ Now tell us all about it, Aggie,” said Annie 
Rich, as she stuffed the keyhole with paper. 
“ What is it to be ? ” 

“ Did any one find out from Winny Curtis 
what the boys think of doing ? ” asked Aggie. 

“ He doesn’t know anything about it. Si 
Kelly won’t let him join them because he said 
he would come to our party.” 

“ Jen Hardy, you must try to find out from 


98 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


Tom to-night what they are going to do, and at 
the same time you mustn’t whisper to him a 
word of what we say here,” and Aggie spoke in 
a tone of authority warranted by the fact that the 
girls looked up to her as their leader. “ Now I 
believe we can shame those boys so that, whether 
they come to our party or not, they won’t serve 
us such a trick again. Here is a letter I have 
written to Si Kelly, and each one of you must 
write the same thing to some other boy, so that 
they will all get one. Now listen; I’ll read it, 
and then every one can copy it.” 

With a look of the most intense satisfaction 
on her freckled face, Aggie read: 

Dear Si ; — All of us girls are sorry that you can’t 
come to the party. We made a great mistake when we 
proposed that each one should pay ten cents, even though 
the money was to be used to help aunt Betsey. We know 
that only the lack of money prevents you from coming, and, 
in order that you need not be obliged to stay away when 
we all want to see you, I have paid the ten cents for your 
necktie, which I send with this letter. Will you please 
come as early as eight o’clock? 

Your friend, 

Agnes Morrell. 



“ ‘ NOW LISTEN ; i’ll READ IT,’ SAID AGGIE.” 










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AGGIE'S SCHEME. 99 

For several moments after Aggie ceased read- 
ing, the applause was so great that it was impos- 
sible for any one to make herself heard. The 
girls were so pleased with the scheme that they 
were almost as noisy as the boys would have 
been under similar circumstances. 

“ Now we must each give twenty-five cents,” 
Aggie said, as soon as the tumult had partially 
subsided, “ and we will buy the things for aunt 
Betsey, so that the boys will know we have really 
paid the money. Each one decide which boy she 
will write to, so that every one will get a letter, 
and mother says you may all come to my house 
to-night to make the neckties. I’ve been to Mr. 
Dilloway’s and Lute Haley’s and got the prints, so 
that we can have everything fixed this evening.” 

“ When will we send the letters } ” 

“ The first thing in the morning. Mother 
will wrap up the neckties to-night, so that we 
sha’n’t know which ones we are sending away. 
We will leave the letters, with the packages, 
on the boys’ desks before school begins, and 
if they are not ashamed of themselves by the 
time they read them. I’m mistaken.” 


roo 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


“ But suppose the boys don’t come after we 
do all this?” said Maria, dolefully. 

“ Then we’ll have the party just the same, and 
I guess we can manage to have a good time 
even if Mr. Si Kelly does not permit the boys 
to come.” 

“ But how can we leave the letters ? ” Maria 
appeared to be full of doubts, even though 
Aggie’s plan seemed so promising. “ The boys 
will be sure to come here the first thing, and we 
shall look rather silly carrying the letters around 
to the desks when they are all here.” 

“ I know that,” replied Aggie, promptly, “ and 
I’m going to tell Deacon Littlefield the whole 
story just as soon as we get through here. We 
will ask him to let us come in first, and to keep 
the boys out until we get everything fixed.” 

There was no question but that Aggie had 
thought of all possible contingencies, and the 
girls were convinced that under her leadership 
they would be able to rout Master Kelly, even 
though they might not have the satisfaction of 
seeing him at the party. 

“ Now we’ll go home and write the letters 


AGGIE'S SCHEME. 


lOI 


before supper, so that we shall have nothing to 
do this evening but work on the neckties,” said 
Aggie, as she made her preparations for leaving 
the room. “You girls go, and I’ll arrange it 
with the Deacon, so that we can get in here in 
the morning ahead of the boys.” 

Of course girls don’t cheer, when anything 
pleases them, as boys do ; but this particular 
party of girls were strongly tempted to do so as 
they left the room, so thoroughly convinced 
were they that they would soon triumph over 
those who had tried to humiliate them. 


CHAPTER III. 


tom’s scheme. 

Despite all efforts, not a boy had been able 
to learn what course the girls had decided upon 
during the meeting in the classroom. Several 
of those who were in favor of the sleigh-ride 
had sisters among the “ ten-centers,” and they 
used every effort to learn what had been the 
result of the meeting; but, in each individual 
case, before the boy had asked very many ques- 
tions, he found that his sister was more success- 
ful in getting information from him than he from 
her. 

During that evening the girls kept their se- 
cret closely guarded, while more than one of 
the boys had inadvertently divulged enough of 
Si’s great scheme to enable the girls to judge 
quite clearly what they proposed to do. Si had 
notified his friends and adherents that he would 
meet them at half-past eight in the schoolroom, 


102 


TOM'S SCHEME, 


103 


when he expected that each one would be pre- 
pared to pay his share of the cost of the sleigh- 
ride, and all hands were in the playground at 
an early hour next morning, anxious, but unable 
to get into the building. 

Why it was that the schoolhouse door should 
be locked so late on this particular morning, 
when it was usually opened as early as seven 
o’clock, no fellow could imagine. That the girls 
were the cause of their being deprived of their 
regular place for holding business meetings 
never occurred to them, and the only reason 
they could assign for this remarkable delay on 
the part of the janitor was that Deacon Little- 
field was ill. They did not really hope that 
their teacher was sick ; but they would have 
been willing he should be slightly indisposed, 
if, in such case, they would have an unexpected 
holiday. 

Si did not think it advisable to neglect busi- 
ness simply because they were obliged to stand 
out-of-doors instead of being in a warm room, 
and he promptly collected twenty-five cents for 
the proposed sleigh-ride from each boy who was 


104 ^ NECKTIE PARTY. 

SO fortunate as to have that amount of money 
with him. 

At ten minutes before nine, the boys, who had 
begun to grow surprised because none of the 
girls had appeared, were disappointed at seeing 
Deacon Littlefield, whom they had believed to 
be sick, come into the yard, and in five minutes 
more they trooped into the schoolroom behind 
him, the door having been opened by the janitor 
from the inside the moment the teacher stood 
before it. 

All this looked mysterious, and the mystifi- 
cation was complete when the sleigh-riders saw 
every individual member of the “ ten-centers,” 
with the single exception of Winny, seated at 
their desks much as if they had remained there 
all night. On going to his seat, each boy found 
a letter and a package staring him in the face ; 
and from that time until the Deacon called the 
school to order, no sound was heard, save the 
rustling of paper as the boys read the missives, 
while the girls appeared to have no thought 
save for their books, which they were studying 
with most remarkable intentness. 


TOM^S SCHEME. 


105 


No one of the boys had time to compare 
notes with his neighbor when Deacon Littlefield 
said, after he had rapped vigorously on his desk 
to command attention : 

“ It has been suggested to me by such of 
your parents as I have had time to call upon, 
that, in view of the near approach of the holi- 
days, and of the many plans you may possibly 
have in mind, school be dismissed until after 
the beginning of the New Year. To have fol- 
lowed out my original intention, we should have 
continued in session to-day and to-morrow ; but, 
believing that I should have only your divided 
attention during that time, I have concluded to 
give you two extra holidays, trusting that, when 
we assemble here again, you will endeavor to 
make up for the time thus lost. You are, there- 
fore, dismissed from attendance until the day 
after New Year’s.” 

Under ordinary circumstances, this unexpected 
announcement would have been received with 
cheers by the boys ; but so confused were the 
sleigh-riders by the letters they had just re- 
ceived, that they remained quietly in their seats. 


io6 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


while the girls walked demurely out of the 
building. 

Even before Deacon Littlefield had taken his 
departure the confusion began, Tom Hardy be- 
ing the first one to express an opinion. 

“ I tell you what it is, fellers, the girls have 
got the best of us, and no mistake.”- 

“ The best of us ! ” growled Si Kelly. “ I call 
it about as mean a thing as I know of.” 

“ Is it any meaner than what we did to them.f^” 

“ Of course it is. They write as if we couldn’t 
afford to pay ten cents to go to their old party, 
an’ here the most of us have already given 
twenty-five cents for our ride. Ag Morrell can 
have her calico necktie back, an’ I’m goin’ to 
carry it up to her house before I’m an hour 
older.” 

“ I wouldn’t do that,” squeaked Winny, who 
was secretly delighted at the turn in affairs. 
“ If she gets to talkin’ about the letter you sent 
you’ll have the worst of it.” 

Then everybody spoke at the same time until 
no one could understand what the other was 
saying, and Deacon Littlefield rushed out of 


TOM'S SCHEME, 


107 


the building to save himself from premature 
deafness. 

It was some time before anything like order 
was restored, and then Tom Hardy said, impa- 
tiently : 

“ Look here, fellers, it’s no use for us to stand 
here cawing like a lot of crows, when nobody 
knows what the one next to him is saying. I 
go in for havin’ this thing done right, if we’re 
goin’ to do it at all. The girls have got the best 
of us now, an’ if any of you think we can turn 
things around, let’s go to work shipshape.” 

“ I nominate Tom Hardy president of this 
meetin’, to see how we can get ahead of the 
girls,” squeaked Winny; and, to say the least, 
he was very officious in so doing, since he was 
a member of the “ten-centers,” and really had 
nothing to do with the discomfiture of the 
sleigh-riders. 

In the general excitement, however, no one 
seemed to remember that Winny was not one 
of them, and all called for Tom Hardy to con- 
duct the meeting. Si Kelly recognized the fact 
that he should have been the one to occupy 


o8 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


this proud position ; but the leadership seemed 
to be slipping away from him, and, shout as he 
might, no one paid any attention to him. He 
had led the boys on to defeat, instead of victory, 
and since he could suggest no wiser plan than 
to return the neckties and letters, all looked to 
Tom Hardy for advice. 

“ Fellers,” he said, gravely, as he seated him- 
self in the Deacon’s chair, understanding the 
importance of his position, “ we’ve got to do 
something to get ahead of the girls, an’ I go 
in for havin’ each one say what he thinks is 
best. After that we can pick out a plan. Now, 
what do you think we ought to do. Si } ” 

Master Kelly was very sulky ; but he managed 
to state, as his conviction, that they could do no 
less than return the neckties and letters to the 
senders, treating the whole matter with silent 
scorn, and carry out the idea of the sleigh-ride, 
as if such insignificant persons had never had 
an existence. 

Joe Barr thought it best to accept the invita- 
tions given, and treat the whole matter as a good 
joke whereby each boy had saved ten cents. 


TOM'S SCHEME. 


109 


Joe, however, had not yet paid the assessment 
of twenty-five cents for the sleigh-ride, and many 
thought he had proposed this plan as a way of 
evading any outlay of money. 

Eben Coulliard was willing to do whatever 
the others thought best; but at the same time 
he reminded them that a party at Aggie Mor- 
rell’s house was not a thing to be “ sneezed at,” 
and if the invitation could be accepted grace- 
fully, he thought it would be a pleasant way of 
spending an evening. 

Dan Crockett announced that he was not 
afraid to say he had rather go to the party. 
He had already paid his quarter towards the 
sleigh-ride; but he was willing to look upon 
that as so much money thrown away if the 
others would agree to go to Aggie’s house. 
He thought that the money that the girls had 
spent could be returned to them in some way, 
and that the friendly feelings between the boys 
and girls of the school could be restored. 

Jack Haley and his four intimate friends “did 
not care a cent what was done ; ” they would 
agree to anything the other fellows thought best. 


I lO 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


Bart Carleton agreed with Si Kelly, but since 
it was known that he owed Si four agates and 
seventeen marbles, to say nothing of three tops, 
all believed that his debt had influenced his 
decision. 

All, save Tom Hardy, gave their opinion, and 
it was found that the boys were about evenly 
divided ; one party adopting Si’s suggestion, and 
the other favoring the acceptance of the invi- 
tations, if it could be done so that they would 
not appear to be “backing down.” 

“ Now, see here, fellers,” said Tom, when every 
one looked at him as if expecting to hear what 
he thought, “ I want you all to understand in the 
first place that I am willing to do what the 
majority think best ; but I’ve got a little scheme 
that I think a good one.' Let’s go on the sleigh- 
ride, an’ go to the party, too.” 

“ Then the girls would think we were smart,” 
growled Si. 

“ Wait a minute, till you hear the whole of it. 
About half want to do one thing, and half an- 
other. Now, I say, let’s each one write to the 
girl who has sent him a necktie, thanking her 


TOM'S SCHEME. 


II I 


for the invitation to the party, and ask her to 
go on a sleigh-ride with us. We can hire both 
of Grout’s big sleighs, an’ have about as big a 
time as was ever seen in this town. I guess the 
girls won’t be much ahead of us then.” 

“ But how about their payin’ for our neck- 
ties } ” asked Dan Crockett. 

“ We’ll let that go as if we was much obliged 
to them ; but we’ll raise ten cents more apiece, 
an’ buy aunt Betsey wood enough to last her 
till summer. If we pay the money now, we 
can each get a saw, an’ have it all cut up before 
night. The girls won’t have any the best of us 
then ; aunt Betsey will be just that much better 
off ; we can have our sleigh-ride, and we can go 
to the party as well. But if we should do simply 
one thing or the other, then the girls would be 
sure to think we had been beaten. Now, if all 
the fellers will agreet o that. I’ll get my share 
of the money right away, an’ we’ll ask Deacon 
Littlefield to buy the wood this morning.” 

Tom saw, even before he had ceased speaking, 
that the majority of the boys were in favor of 
his scheme, since by carrying it out they would 


I 12 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


miss neither one pleasure nor the other, and 
would only be obliged to pay ten cents extra, 
and to spend a little time sawing wood. 

“ But we can’t get both sleighs for the same 
price we could one,” said Si ; but even this 
objection showed that he was favorably inclined 
towards Tom’s scheme, if it could be accom- 
plished without too great a sacrifice. 

“ Yes, we can, if we don’t take them till the 
middle of the afternoon. We will start about 
three o’clock, an’ come back to Aggie’s house 
in time for the party.” 

“ But how’ll you fix it about the letters ” 
asked Si. 

“ I’ll send this one to Maria Gilman, for she 
sent me the necktie, an’ you can all copy it.” 
Then Tom read the following letter, which he 
had written while the others had been talking: 


Dear Rie : — I am much obliged for the invitation and 
the necktie. I will be there by eight o’clock if you will 
do a little favor for me. Us boys have been getting up a 
sleigh-ride for Saturday afternoon ; we shall start about 
three o’clock from the schoolhouse, and get back to Aggie’s 
in time for the party. Will you go ? 


TOM^S SCHEME. 


II3 

I am sure aunt Betsey will feel grateful to you girls when 
she knows you each gave twenty cents towards making her 
comfortable, and if it had not been for the “ lack of money,” 
we boys would have paid our share. 

Your friend, Tom. 

“ Hurrah ! ” shouted Dan Crockett. “ I reckon 
that will fix things, an’ when they find that we 
bought the wood for aunt Betsey, they can’t 
think that they’ve got the right to feel very 
superior.” 

“ They’ll never know but that we meant all 
the time to do this very thing,” said Tom, “an’ 
we shall have as good a time as can be had.” 

There was no question but that this scheme 
would be carried out, for even Si Kelly came to 
understand that it was a very graceful way of 
extricating themselves from what, at one time, 
promised to be a decidedly disagreeable posi- 
tion, and he announced his decision by saying: 

“ Now, every feller must hurry home an’ get 
the ten cents, so’s we can buy the wood quick, 
an’ then there won’t be any chance for the girls 
to believe that we thought of this after we got 
their letters.” 


14 


A NECKTIE PARTY. 


“ Take the money you had collected for the 
ride, an’ we will all make it up before night,” 
suggested Tom. 

In another moment Si was running at full 
speed towards Deacon Littlefield’s house to ask 
him to buy the wood, and Tom suggested that 
each sleigh-rider sharpen his saw in order to be 
ready for work as soon as the fuel should be in 
aunt Betsey’s yard. 

Before night the wood had been purchased, 
sawed, and split ; the letters had been written 
and sent to the girls, and both of Mr. Grout’s 
sleighs engaged for Saturday afternoon. 

The story of the ride, and of the necktie 
party that followed it, would, without doubt, be 
interesting ; but the telling of these pleasant fes- 
tivities would occupy too much space. Suffice 
it to say that the girls readily accepted the invi- 
tations that were the result of Tom’s scheme, 
and although they learned from some of the 
more garrulous sleigh-riders under just what 
press of circumstances they had been given, 
the “ ten - centers ” were too generous to hint 
of what they knew. 


TOM^S SCHEME. 


II5 

Aggie’s party was a dazzling success. Every 
one appeared to have a good time, and the pair- 
ing off of the aprons and neckties caused con- 
siderable amusement, especially when Debby 
Thompson, the tallest girl present, found that 
she must accept the smallest boy — who was 
Winny, of course — as an escort. 

It is hardly necessary to say that Winny was 
allowed to become one of the sleigh-riders ; and 
since he had voluntarily agreed to go to the 
party, he was obliged to pay for his necktie, as 
well as his proportion of the cost of the sleigh- 
ride and the wood. Thus it was that his love 
for cake proved to be quite expensive to him, 
owing to the varied schemes of his friends. 


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